And so seven weeks after his mother's suicide at the age of 51, Handke makes himself sit down to write an account of her life, trying to avoid what he terms the "transformations" that would turn his story into art or allow him to distance himself as writers usually do.

In telling the tale of his mother's ordinary, conscribed and hopeless little life, he breaks your heart for this woman, and for many women of similar times and places and towns who didn't count for very much in the eyes of the world. Most sadly, not counting for much in their own eyes.

This book seeped into me as if I was blotting paper. An unforgettable read.